


Rabbit

by fawatson



Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 22:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12309060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: Leah comes to Mercy's rescue.





	Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishafel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/gifts).



> **Request:** I'd love for Leah to get a chance to really shine. I've always felt a little sorry for her given Bran and Mercy's (and everyone else's) obvious distaste. Let her kick Fae ass, maybe, and make Bran realize what he's missing.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

Leah’s patrol, in theory, ranged due south of Aspen Creek and took in foothills, some dense woodland, and a river meadow. Today, however, she thought sourly, she could probably make a full 360 degree circuit round all the territory bordering the village without encountering another scout. It ought _not_ to be that way, of course. But the moon was just past full, which meant people who ought to have been keeping watch were, at best, complacently drowsy. Some may not even have dragged themselves from their beds. They had run far and gorged well the night before; many of the dog wolves had happily exhausted themselves playing court to the few female wolves in the pack. No one liked drawing the short straw to be on early guard duty the next day - not even she. But, as was all too often the case, Leah had returned home relatively early, unmated…unsatisfied. These days Bran rarely approached her during the moon-time. Instead he spent the time taking the younger wolves, the ones just turned four weeks ago, who were not yet in full control of their wolves, off on a long hunt. Duty called; and the sad fact was he preferred it over her. All too often, being the Marrok’s mate wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. 

Leah sniffed the cold clear air and cocked her head, listening intently, before she set off, taking a different path from the one the hunt had used the night before. The trail was slippery with slush. Light snow flurries had come in mid-October but not stayed long. Last week had seen the blustery first real storm of the season; but two days ago there had been a thaw, leaving the paths a mess. Leah hated getting her paws muddy; she ran swiftly through the mixed forest of alder and aspen heading for the river. At the edge of the forest Leah paused in the shadow of a pine tree, cautiously checking before she emerged. She walked more sedately across the meadow, enjoying the sun’s warmth on her silver-gold fur. She knew she always looked her best in bright sunshine; such a pity Bran was not here to admire her. A red-tailed hawk circled high above, searching for prey; and she could hear the sounds of beaver ahead, working on their lodge in the pond they had made last summer. 

* * * * * * * 

‘The morning after the night before’ was a phrase Mercy had heard amongst the kids at school; not that it was something she heard from students her own age. But coyote hearing was better than average and there were times she had sat in the school cafeteria, overhearing the 15-year-olds at the next table only. They bragged about all night parties and hangovers as a rite of passage. It held a different meaning in Bran’s territory. One morning past full moon meant most members of the pack were sleeping heavily. Her foster father had joined the hunt; but Bran normally did not allow Mercy to join when there was a full moon. She and Evelyn had rented a movie. She had been allowed to stay up late eating popcorn and hot chocolate; but, of course, she had still been sent to bed earlier than Evelyn. At eleven Mercy was just old enough to start resenting that, but still young enough to accept the diktat. Her foster mother always stayed downstairs until Bryan finally got home. 

Having been up until dawn, they normally slept heavily until late morning. Mercy slipped out of her foster parents’ house without challenge. Evelyn’s prized vegetable patch near the house showed signs of depredation. While the wolves are away, the rabbits will play! Mercy turned toward the woods which bordered the paddock. A hollow log provided a convenient hiding place for her clothes. She shivered in the chill November morn before changing. A few seconds later she bounded away following the scent of a rabbit. The smell was not fresh, not one likely to lead to breakfast. But, as Bran kept reminding her, she needed practice at following a trail. More than once he had played ‘rabbit’ to her coyote; once she had even out-smarted and caught him!

There were, of course, posted pickets, but everyone knew this was a matter of form rather than because of real need. The Marrok’s position was unassailable. Pickets were there, in any case, to challenge intruders and never bothered Mercy, who lived here. She had happily bounced after the rabbit scent leading from her foster parents’ house until the stale trail crossed something fresh and she changed course to pursue that. Mule deer was her guess. Not that she would dare to take on a fully grown deer as a single coyote. They were big prey even for a full pack of werewolves. But she enjoyed tracking, and to come home saying she had found a buck was something she could brag about. 

It was a strange scent, sort of deer but not quite. Mercy happily sniffed and ran; where the scent grew faint she remembered Bran’s advice and circled until she found it again. She lost it completely by the river. No amount of casting round helped. Perhaps it had waded across. Mercy leapt from one flat rock to another in the water to reach the other side, but had no luck there either. In the end she moved on, picking up a new scent, this time of a rabbit. It too was strange – rabbit-like rather than bunny. Not hare – definitely not hare. Plus, it seemed to be ranging quite far; the smell of its passage ran freely through the forest opposite, passing completely by any number of burrows. An intrepid explorer rabbit! Mercy ran headlong in pursuit.

* * * * * * * 

Leah felt much the better for having nipped young Joe on the nose. She had _known_ he would be sleeping on the job. As punishment, she had sent him off to patrol up toward the Cabinets. When he protested she reinforced her command with Bran’s power, but agreed he should not go _into_ the Cabinets, just border them. Some of her irritation left her as the chastened wolf rolled in submission before setting off. Some…but not enough.

Leah turned back to her own patrol, heading into the foothills where she spent a few minutes chasing and eating a Pika. She looked up from her meal to spy a bobcat watching her intently. She growled; it hissed before slinking off. Leah circled back to the meadow; no need to tempt fate by staying too close to the cat. It would patrol its territory; that would take care of any of Bran’s enemies without any need to expend her energies. The sky was clouding over as she reached the meadow and she shivered. Her patrol would end before the bad weather set in again; but the next shift might find it more of a challenge to stay warm. The hawk was long gone; but the beaver remained, industriously working to fill his winter larder. She flushed a flock of grey partridge but did not pursue them. The feathers were a nuisance. Instead, at the water’s edge Leah watched for walleye. She was counted the best fisher in the Marrok’s pack. Three fish later she tipped the discarded heads and tails back into the stream, stepped onto the flat rocks to cross, and stiffened. Two scents had come this way, neither welcome: an intruder…and that silly coyote-girl rushing heedlessly into danger. It’s not as if she hadn’t been _warned_ against going out on her own. Mercy might deserve all she got; but Leah knew her duty, and sent Bran an urgent red alert. He was on the cusp of consciousness; her sudden call for help saw him wide awake in an instant.

* * * * * * * 

Bran sent out a clarion call to Charles and Sam, before changing. His grey wolf led white wolf and cinnamon, following the trail Leah had laid in his mind. Not for them the joy of testing the air with both tongue and nose; not for them the pleasant meandering path Mercy, and even Leah, had taken. Bran and his sons raced as straight and direct a route as possible. By the scent Leah had transmitted the intruder was a Phooka, which could mean light-hearted mischief or malice, depending on its whim. But was it just one Fae – or more than one? Leah would likely have caught up to it now. Not for the first time Bran deeply regretted his inability to hear the thoughts of pack members, to see through their eyes. He would give a lot to have some foreknowledge what he would find on arrival.

They were into the foothills before they caught up. A series of low hills surrounded a sheltered round meadow. It was as if winter had not arrived here: asters still bloomed and some late yellow poppies still bobbed on thin stalks in a light warm breeze. Bran felt a shiver up his spine; those hills formed a fairy ring, and one that he had never before noticed on _his_ land. It stank of Fae magic. And in the centre of it all was a large elk, coal black in colour, with 8-pointed antlers. Riding that beast: one little bitch coyote, human in form, her arms flung round the elk's neck, her head thrown back in joyous laughter as it pirouetted and caracoled. Standing guard: Leah, also in human form. He butted his head against her thigh and she looked direct into his eyes. 

“I remembered what you said,” she spoke in a low voice so as not to attract the attention of the Fae. “November 1st is the one day of the year when it can be expected to behave civilly. So I bargained with it, _not_ to steal the child away, just give her the ride of her life.” 

Bran watched as the Phooka, tiring of its burden, spun three times on the spot and bucked, throwing Mercy halfway across the meadow, before he disappeared in a brilliant flash of pink light. She landed heavily, banging her head on the hard ground, breath knocked out of her; but Sam raced to her side. He would make sure she was all right. 

Bran looked at his mate. She loathed Mercy; she had never made any secret of her disapproval of his decision to accept a _coyote_ into Aspen Creek. She _could_ have let the Fae steal her. Who would have known? They were mated but it was not a close bond; she had the ability to hide the truth from him. In fur as he was, he could not ask, but his eyes held his question for him. 

“You are the Marrok,” she said simply. “I am your mate. I will _not_ raise a _coyote_.” Her disgust for the small wild dog was obvious. “But I will not see one you have under your protection stolen from you.” 

She shivered. The departure of the Phooka meant the departure of the unseasonable warmth; the blooms blackened even as he watched. Bran lent Leah strength to change quickly. Sam and Charles would see to Mercy; he could count on them to see her safe home. 

This was his and Leah’s time.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** The phooka is part of Celtic folklore. It can bring good and bad fortune. Traditionally it has either black or white fur. It was a shape changer which could take the appearance of horses, goats, cats, dogs, and - often - rabbits or hares. The 1st of November is the phooka's day, and the one day of the year when it will be civil and make prophecies and give warnings to people who consult it. If a human rides it, the phooka gives a wild ride; but will not be harmed. After 1st November the phooka was said to spit on blackberries so they became inedible. In the 1950 film "Harvey", Jimmy Stewart is befriended by a phooka which is invisible to everyone else but appears to him as a large white rabbit.


End file.
